


Vaults in the Earth

by twilights_blue



Series: The Lost Element [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilights_blue/pseuds/twilights_blue
Summary: The first wellspring has fallen, and now Dean, Sam, and Castiel must find the other three before the Shadow does. They have no real direction, but fate leads them north, into the depths of a forest being haunted by an unknown monster. But the true issue may have less to do with the beast and all to do with the people it is preying upon.[Updates every month!]





	1. Chapter 1

The rain seemed to rush to greet the small group of travelers, the sky opening up as they reached the mountain’s eastern foothills. It was a gentle rainfall, almost as if it were welcoming them home. Soon the air was full of the scent of moist earth and the tip-tap of water against the tall plains grasses. Dean pulled the damp air deep into his lungs and sighed it out, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. After weeks of wandering the barren Great Desert, being surrounded by the green, living plains was a relief.

Pulling his hat lower so as to shield his face from the rain, Dean turned to check on his companions. Sam was huddled in his duster, frowning up at the slate gray sky. Even his gelding looked miserable. The two of them made an image Dean couldn’t help but laugh at. Out of the two of them growing up, Sam had never enjoyed the rain. Dean, on the other hand, had always liked it. It appeared their opinions hadn’t changed over the years.

Shaking his head, Dean turned his attention to Castiel. What he saw made his faint smile grow into a full-out grin.

The guardian was reveling in the storm. He’d dropped his horse’s reins, and his hands now lay relaxed in his lap. His face was tilted up towards the sky, a grin splitting his face wide as the rain fell on him.

Dean watched him for a moment, a little lost in the joy on Castiel’s face. The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled him back to the present. Dean turned his head to find Sam frowning at him. Sam then directed that frown towards Castiel, before nodding eastward, where the road disappeared into the mist-shrouded grass.

Dean sighed, but nodded his understanding at Sam. Giving Baby’s sides a light tap with his heels, Dean moved until he was level with Castiel’s horse. Castiel himself didn’t register Dean’s presence until Dean rested his hand on his shoulder. Only then did he open his eyes and look over. His smile had yet to abate.

“This,” Castiel said, and looked skyward again. “This is _wonderful_.”

Dean’s smile softened at the awe in Castiel’s voice. “It’s just a li’l rain, Cas.”

“Yes, but.” Inhaling sharply, Castiel made a general sweeping gesture at their surroundings. Water dripped off his fingertips, catching the gloomy daylight in weak silver flashes. “It’s so full of life. It’s, it’s like sparks on my skin.”

Castiel sighed and looked back at Dean, eyes as bright as a lake on a clear summer’s day. “It’s beautiful, Dean.”

Dean’s chest went tight with some heavy, unnameable emotion. To him, the rain meant he was home, and was a welcome change to the desert that now stood at their backs. To Castiel, though, Dean had the sense it was so much more. Castiel had just left his only home behind, in the clutches of a poisonous evil that had taken control despite the guardian’s efforts. Feeling the life in the rain must have been relieving, maybe even cleansing. But that might have been only hopeful thinking. For Dean, all that truly mattered in this moment was the fact that Castiel was the happiest he’d been since they’d started their journey out of the Great Desert.

Aware of the hole Sam was glaring into the back of his head, Dean cleared his throat and looked out across the plains. “As beautiful as it is, Cas,” he said, “it ain’t exactly warm out here.”

Castiel blinked, and Dean’s gaze caught on the raindrops clinging to his eyelashes. “Oh.” Castie’s smile faded a little, and he craned his neck to look over at Sam. “My apologies. I forgot that not everyone is comfortable with rain.”

“It’s all good,” Dean said, trying to ignore the heat climbing up the back of his neck. Curse his traitorous eyes. “This ain’t letting up anytime soon, so once we set up camp for the night, you can, uh, stand in the rain as much as you like.”

The smile Castiel gave Dean didn’t help the tightness in his chest, or the warmth he could now feel all the way to the tips of his ears. “That sounds all right,” Castiel said.

He then turned to look to the east, giving Dean a moment to collect himself. “Also,” Castiel said, “if it’s still there, I believe there may be a suitable camping spot nearby.”

Dean managed to muster up an easy smile by the time Castiel looked back over to gauge his reaction. He gestured in the direction Castiel had been looking, and said, “Lead the way, then.”

Castiel wasted no time in starting forward after that. Sam was only a step behind him, and he flashed Dean a knowing smirk as he rode past. Dean’s only response to Sam was a quick rude gesture. He had no time to spend on these kind of emotions. Not when the fate of the world was so uncertain.

=

Castiel followed the eastern road for a mile or so before leading them through the plains grass in a more southerly direction. It took a moment for Dean to realize that they were actually following a trail. It was in poor repair, and was a barely noticeable line in the dirt, but was indeed there, and Castiel was unerringly following it. Ahead of him, Dean saw Sam’s fingers twitch towards his pack, probably wanting to check their route on his map. But with the heavy rain, the inked lines of his map would blur in mere seconds, and so he didn’t quite dare. Dean laughed quietly to himself. Hopefully they’d reach their destination before Sam died from sheer curiosity.

Not an hour had passed before Dean saw a hulking shape appear from the tall grasses. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what it was through the rain. It wasn’t until they were almost there that Dean could pick out discernible features. Crumbling exterior walls. Narrow windows lined with the rusty remnants of iron bars. A broken tower in one corner. Dean reined Baby to a stop and let out a low, impressed whistle.

“Wait,” Sam said. He’d also stopped to study the building in front of them. “Is— I mean, _was_ this a fort?”

Castiel paused further up the trail. “Yes,” he said. “It was built shortly before the Devastation. Hopefully, it’s still intact enough to provide some shelter from the storm.”

He started forward again, and all the brothers could do was follow. Sam glanced at Dean, eyebrows raised, but all Dean could do was shrug. While he’d ranged further across the plains than Sam in their youth, Dean was far from an expert on its features. It was dangerous to stray too far from the main road, as the flat, featureless expanse of the plains made it far too easy for an explorer to lose their way. This fort had been built just far enough from the road that Dean never would’ve encountered it on his own. If he were being honest with himself, Dean was impressed that Castiel was able to find it so easily. The guardian’s memory, it seemed, was very reliable.

They entered the fort through the remnants of the main gate. Its doors had long since rotted away, and the entryway itself was broken at the top, leaving its arch incomplete. The outer walls were covered in moss, and had been worn away by three centuries’ worth of wind and rain. The buildings inside the walls weren’t in much better condition - the ones made of wood were almost entirely gone, and the ones made from stone were crumbling, with caved-in roofs and missing doorways. The fallen pieces of the fort’s watchtower were scattered across the courtyard, half-buried in the earth and overgrown with moss and grass.

“I must say,” Castiel said, looking at everything with sharp eyes, “there’s more left than I had thought there would be.”

Dean grunted, noncommittal. The sound of the rain rattling against stone, coupled with the echo of their horses’ hooves against the ruined walls, made Dean uneasy. As a hunter, he wasn’t unfamiliar with ghosts, and this place was an ideal location for a haunting.

“Don’t worry,” Castiel said, glancing back at Dean. “This fort was never directly attacked during the war. I doubt it’s haunted.”

Dean relaxed his tight grip on Baby’s reins, but still frowned at Castiel. “Reading my mind, Cas?” he asked.

Castiel shook his head. “I am aware of how hunters think,” he said. “I wouldn’t intentionally lead you into danger. Trust me.”

“I do,” Dean said, and he meant it. It was just difficult to put instinct aside when walking into a place like this. He looked away from Castiel and muttered out a apology that was barely audible over the sound of the rain.

Castiel shrugged a shoulder. “There’s no need to apologize for who you are,” he said. “Come, I think Sam has found some shelter.”

Looking around, Dean realized Sam was no longer with them. He’d wandered off sometime during Dean and Castiel’s conversation, and was at the southeastern corner of the fort. The outer wall was mostly intact there, with the landing along its upper edge providing decent cover from the rain. In fact, Sam had already started making a firepit, and was scavenging for wood dry enough to start a fire.

It worked for Dean. Clicking his tongue, he let Baby pick her way through the rubble towards the makeshift campsite. The both of them, Dean was sure, were ready to get out of the cold and the wet.

=

After a warm meal and a stretch of time silently pondering the fire, Dean turned his attention to the ruins around them. As the rainy night deepened, their surroundings seemed to become separate from the present, immune to the flow of time. Dean thought he could feel the history of this place bleeding out of the stone walls at his back. A silly thought, maybe, but one that refused to leave him be.

“You know,” Sam said to Castiel, “neither Dean nor I knew this place existed.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “And we grew up out here.”

“I’m not surprised,” Castiel said. He had spent some time sitting in the rain after they’d set up camp, but he was now next to the fire, studying the darkness beyond their camp’s light. “After the conclusion of the Devastation, I doubt many humans had much reason to linger here.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

“This fort was not only built as a line of defense between the encroaching Shadow and the Great Desert,” Castiel said. “It also served as a, ah, as a ‘home base’ for me. That way, I could join my siblings in battle without totally abandoning my duties as guardian for the wellspring of water.”

Dean nodded. “It probably helped hide the wellspring too, right? Nothin’ stronger than a lone guardian ignoring the war to stay in a desert that’s supposed to be empty.”

Castiel’s eyes lit up with approval. “Our thoughts exactly,” he said. “No one lingered near the wellsprings, but one or two of us stayed nearby, in case the Shadow’s minions wandered too close.”

“That’s interesting,” Sam said, leaning forward, “but it doesn’t explain why this place was abandoned.”

Castiel looked down and away. “The fort was too far from the main road to make a viable town,” he said.

Dean watched Castiel pluck at the grass with restless fingers for a moment before saying, “And what else?”

With a soft sigh, Castiel shook his head. He didn’t look up as he said, “The soldiers were kind to me, and respected me, but I don’t believe that many of them truly _liked_ me.”

Dean blinked in surprise. How could anyone dislike Castiel? “What?”

Castiel’s answering smile was wry. “I think living in such close quarters with something that looked human, but _wasn’t_ , unnerved them. But I was their ally, so what were they to do but tolerate my presence?”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that. But, luckily, Sam did. “So after the Devastation, they just… left this place and never came back?”

Castiel nodded. “The soldiers already had homes. Families. So there was no reason to linger. And I had my desert to attend to.”

“Did any of them say goodbye, at least?” Dean asked. The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

“Some did.” Castiel sighed out a weak sound of amusement, and quirked an eyebrow in Dean’s direction. “But farewells were very, _very_ brief.”

Dean bristled, but before he could snap out some impulsive comment, Castiel raised a staying hand. “This happened three hundred years ago,” he said. “I’ve had time to move on.”

Huffing out a short noise, Dean leaned back into a more relaxed position. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “it’s been great having you as a friend, Cas.”

The smile Dean received was small, almost shy in its hesitancy. “Thank you,” Castiel said.

The two of them sat smiling at one another for one silent, suspended moment. Then Sam cleared his throat, and whatever mood had fallen over them was broken.

“But your desert has people in it now,” Sam said. “And they don’t fear you.”

Castiel hummed in acknowledgment. “They came afterward,” he said, “and of their own volition. I think that helped put the beginning of our relationship on more equal ground.”

“I’m sure you saving them from heat sickness worked in your favor, too,” Sam said.

Castiel shrugged. “It certainly didn’t hurt.”

Dean snorted, but didn’t add any other comment. Sam shot him a curious look, but Dean just shook his head. They all knew humans were fickle creatures. He didn’t need to say it aloud.

Unaware of the silent exchange happening between the two brothers, Castiel drew his knees up to his chest and continued speaking. “I was happy to have them. Humans may not have trusted me at first, but I always liked existing among them. To care for them, and help them flourish in my desert, felt like a great honor.”

Castiel seemed to run out of words, then. His throat worked once, twice, and then he swallowed compulsively, eyes shadowed. With a small shake of his head, Castiel looked out into the dark, rainy night.

The heavy feeling was sitting in Dean’s chest again, and it was hard to breathe around it, let alone speak. Sam’s brow was furrowed, his mouth downturned in sympathy. He opened his mouth to talk, but closed it again before any words came out. Condolences felt hollow in the face of Castiel’s loss. Reassurances seemed too weak. This would would have to be healed with more than words.

Dean reached out and touched Castiel’s shoulder with light fingers. The guardian didn’t respond, but he didn’t shrug the touch off, either. It was better than nothing.

Taking a breath, Dean made an effort to break the gloom hanging over the three of them. “Hey,” he said. “By my reckoning, we’ll be in Lawrence in five days.”

Sam hummed, tilting his head in thought. “It’s probably more like four,” he said.

“I’m leavin’ time to get back on the road from here. The rain, too, if it keeps up.”

“Good point.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean saw Castiel turn his head towards them. “Lawrence?” he asked. He still sounded distant, like his mind was still more on his usurped desert than on the present conversation, but at least he was participating. Dean would consider that a small victory.

“It’s where Sammy and I grew up,” Dean said. “Small town. Nice folk, for the most part.”

“We travel a lot,” Sam added, “but whenever we come back into town, Bobby always has a place for us to stay.”

“And Bobby is your friend,” Castiel said. It sounded more like a statement than a question.

Dean shrugged. “Kinda.”

“He used to watch us when our dad was hunting,” Sam said, when it was clear that Dean wasn’t planning on elaborating. “Later, he taught us most of what we know about hunting. He’s a little prickly, but he’s kinder than he lets on.”

Castiel was quiet for a moment, gaze trained northeast, in the general direction of Lawrence. It seemed that he was fully present again, and Dean was thankful for it. Finally, he said, “I look forward to meeting this man.”

Dean snorted. “Just hope he doesn’t try and shoot you the moment he sees you.”

Castiel made a startled sound and turned to give Dean an alarmed look at the same time Sam punched Dean in the shoulder. Dean shrugged and grinned under the force of Sam’s glare.

“I’m _joking_ ,” Dean said to Sam. “Bobby’s a paranoid sonofabitch. I’m just tryin’ to prepare Cas for that.”

“I think,” Castiel said slowly, “as long as he doesn’t actually try to shoot me, I’ll be all right.”

“Atta boy, Cas.”

=

After taking a little more time to plan out their route for the next day, Sam and Dean bedded down for the night. Castiel, not needing sleep, kept watch through the night and roused the brothers the following morning. They rode out shortly after breakfast, the dawn pale and dull under that rain that had yet to diminish.

The rain let finally let up around midday, and the brilliant blue of the sky began peeking through the clouds soon afterward. The sun was warm, and helped dry out the worst of the puddles that had formed in the ruts and divots carved into the road. Still, the camp the trio made that night was still a little damp, as the earth hidden by the grass was slower to dry.

The good weather held for the next two days, and Dean reveled in the unending, vibrant greens of the plains below, and the vast blue of the sky above. Castiel was just as fascinated by their surroundings, trailing his fingers along the tall grasses and noting the wildlife. Occasionally he’d request they stop so that he could study something in closer detail. Castiel was amazed, and he said so more than once. It was so very different than his desert.

Sam and Dean humored the guardian’s curiosity. Sam would talk about the plants and animals they came across, and how they all worked within the larger, living system that were the plains. Dean, for his part, would point out the tracks of certain animals, or talk about one of the many trails that broke off from the main road to wind off into the grass. Castiel listened to everything with rapt attention, eyes wide and bright, curiosity as deep and broad as a lake.

The days passed easily like this, and they made quick progress eastward. On their fourth day of riding the rain returned, sweeping a gray, wet curtain across the plains once more. The three of them were quieter that day, as there was less to see in the miserable weather. Still, a little before noon, Dean pointed out a marker by the road. It was barely taller than the grass, and it blended well with the dull, gray light of the day. Dean would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been keeping an eye out for it. They’d be in Lawrence before nightfall.

Sure enough, the day was just beginning to darken even further when Lawrence came into view. Its dull gray houses weathered the storm with indifference. There were a handful of buildings clustered along both sides of the road, with more settled a little further off. The distant ones were mostly ranches and farms, and the one furthest away from the main road belonged to Bobby.

Bobby’s house was a squat, two-story building that seemed to hide in the plains grasses despite its size. It was in relatively good repair, as were the small stables built against its lee side. After they made sure their horses were sufficiently settled within the dry haven of the stables, the trio of travelers circled around to climb the house’s front porch. They paused there long enough to exchange glances, and then Sam reached out and knocked firmly on the front door.

There was a long moment of silence, and then Dean heard the approaching sound of heavy, limping footsteps thumping against wooden floorboards. Then there was the faint sound of someone muttering to themselves right before the front door creaked open to reveal Bobby’s frowning, grizzled face.

“Took you boys long enough,” he said, voice gruff. “Was startin’ to think I’d have to go out there and get you myself.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “We can take care of ourselves.”

Bobby grunted. “That’s what you like to think, sure.” His eyes drifted over from Dean to Sam, before inevitably landing on Castiel. “Who’s this?”

“Ah, um.” Sam looked first at Castiel, then at Dean, expression lost.

“This is Cas,” Dean said, gesturing at the guardian. “We, well. We found him.”

Bobby’s expression darkened into a scowl. “This ain’t like that stray dog you two picked up a few years ago, is it?”

Castiel tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “I’m much, much larger than a dog,” he said. He sounded like he wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or simply confused.

“He’s safe,” Dean said when Bobby’s expression remained hostile. “We’ll explain, but once we’re inside. Ain’t exactly talking weather out here.”

As if to prove his point, lightning flicked its bright tongue across the pitch dark sky, and was soon followed by the distant growl of thunder. Bobby studied Castiel for another moment and then, with a short sigh through his nose, he stepped aside. “Better be a good story behind this,” he said.

“Oh, trust me,” Sam said as they followed Bobby inside and shut the front door firmly against the night. “You won’t be disappointed.”

=

“All right,” Bobby said, dragging a hand over his face. “Let me see if I got this straight.”

They were in Bobby’s study, which was packed with far more books than there was shelf space. Sam had folded his long frame into the only free chair in the room, while Dean had chosen to lean against the doorframe right behind him. Sam had done most of the talking, with Dean occasionally adding an extra detail or two. Bobby, who was sitting behind his desk, had listened to the brothers’ tale without interrupting. Now, as he began to speak, he leaned forward to rest his crossed arms on the desk.

“You’re telling me,” he said, “that the thing that started the Devastation is some huge, indescribable evil. And that someone’s trying to revive it.”

“More like release it,” Sam said. “But yes, basically.”

“And you also want me to believe that the only thing between this Shadow thing and freedom are some magical holes that are only known by some giant, magical animals.”

Castiel, who had been silently watching the rain patter against the study’s tall windows, shook his head at this. “We’re more than mere animals,” he said, not turning around.

Bobby snorted and waved dismissively. “Same difference,” he said.

Dean saw the way Castiel’s shoulders tensed up, how the rest of him went deadly still. Outside, lightning speared across the sky, with thunder roaring on its heels. Then, fractionally, Castiel’s posture loosened. It seemed he wasn’t planning on responding to the barb.

Bobby gave Castiel a curious look before returning his attention to Sam and Dean. “Details aside,” he said, “what I’m hearin’ is that the end of the world is comin’, and you two’ve been roped into stopping it.”

Dean shrugged as Sam said, “You could say that.”

Bobby heaved a sigh and leaned back in his seat, gaze drifting away from the brothers and along the stacks of books scattered around his study. “You boys don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

The grin Dean gave Bobby was lopsided and wry. “No, sir,” he said.

“You better quit that sassin’,” Bobby growled, “or I’ll change my mind about helping.”

Dean held his hands up in a mockery of surrender, still smiling. Despite his rough front, Bobby wasn’t one to ignore when his boys came asking for help. Even when said help was never asked for.

Castiel finally turned away from his perusal of the weather to raise his eyebrows at Bobby. “You’ll aid us?” he asked, tone a hair away from incredulous.

“I just said I would, didn’t I?” Bobby said. “I may be a bastard, but I ain’t a big enough one to ignore the end of days.”

Castiel studied Bobby for another moment, eyes unreadable. Then, he inclined his head and said, “Thank you. I welcome any advice you’re able to offer us on our journey forward.”

The grunt Bobby replied with was both surprised and accepting. He didn’t offer any other comment, though, and instead turned to study the bookshelves behind his desk. “So,” he said, “any idea of where you’re headed next? Or are you goin’ in blind?”

Sam cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he gave Castiel a sideways glance. “Well,” he said. “Personally, I was hoping that Castiel would know where to go from here.”

Everyone looked over at Castiel, who was now leaned against the windowframe. The rain had lessened as they spoke, though it was still drumming out a steady rhythm against the glass. With a sigh that mirrored the soft sound of the weather outside, Castiel shook his head and turned his head away from the scrutinizing gazes of the three humans. “I don’t know where the other wellsprings are,” he said slowly, as if he were reluctant to speak. “I don’t even know which of my siblings are still alive.”

“How is that possible?” Dean asked. “Aren’t you guys, I dunno, connected somehow?”

“We are,” Castiel said, eyes lifting to meet Dean’s briefly before dropping again. “Or, well, we _were_. The Devastation damaged our bonds. I know that some of my siblings are still alive, but specifics are out of my reach.”

Bobby grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. “There goes that easy answer,” he said.

Castiel didn’t respond, choosing instead to stiffly turn once again watch the rain. His shoulders were tense once more, curled inwards almost defensively, but the emotion rolling off of the guardian was so different this time.

“Don’t worry,” Dean said, talking to the room at large and Castiel in particular. “We’ll figure it out.”

Sam nodded. “The guardians have been around for centuries,” he said, gesturing at the books surrounding them. “Someone must have written about them before.”

“That sorta research is gonna take awhile, though,” Bobby pointed out. “Are y’all just gonna sit around until I dig something up?”

“Well, if you’re asking me, I’d say we could still do some work,” Dean said. “If that’s all right with the rest of you, I mean.”

Castiel, not turning away from the window, gave a weak shrug. “I don’t like the idea of staying idle as the Shadow gets closer to being loosed,” he said. “If anything, we may come across something in our travels.”

Dean looked over at Sam, who shrugged and nodded in return. “Sounds like it’s settled, then,” he said.

Bobby grumbled under his breath for a moment before saying,” All right, I got a few messages while y’all were playin’ around in the desert. I’ll see if any of ‘em are worth your time.”

=

The trio, tired from their time on the road, turned in soon after their plans had been decided upon. Despite living alone, Bobby always kept a handful of extra bedrooms ready in case a hunter or two wandered through Lawrence. Everyone was able to have their own room for the night, and Dean was unconscious as soon as his head hit the pillow.

When he woke, his room was full of pale predawn light. The rain outside was no more than a fine mist drifting on the wind. It made the plains look ghostly, paper-thin and barely there. Dean grumbled at the cold as he yanked his boots on, but he still managed to pull himself out of bed and out into the hallway.

Castiel had chosen the room across the way from Dean, so Dean didn’t have to take more than two steps before he was giving Castiel’s door a perfunctory knock. He didn’t wait for a response, and cracked the door open so he could poke his head into the room.

Since there was no need for Castiel to keep watch here, Dean wasn’t sure how the guardian would spend his night. Perhaps reading, or meditating. From what Dean could see, his second guess was closer to the mark. Castiel was sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed and body relaxed. He looked tired like this, the lines and shadows around his eyes thrown into sharp relief by the thin morning light. Dean wanted to say something, maybe ask what was wrong, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. And then, before he could recover, Castiel opened his eyes.

“It’s a little early for social calls, isn’t it?” Castiel asked.

“Good thing this ain’t a social call, then,” Dean said, smiling faintly. He’d have to wait until later to ask if the guardian was all right, it seemed. “C’mon, get your boots on. We’re going out.”

Castiel glanced over at his window, brows furrowed. “In this?” he asked. “But you’ll—“

Dean snorted. “I ain’t gonna melt,” he said. “Now let’s go, we’re wasting time.”

Castiel huffed out a soft noise, but reached for his boots nonetheless. Satisfied, Dean turned to head downstairs, his booted heels clomping solidly down the steps. Once he was on the ground floor, it was only a matter of cutting through the kitchen before he was stepping out onto the back porch.

Bobby’s backyard was little more than a large square of bare dirt, which had turned muddy under the rain. Curious, Dean took a step out onto the mud. The wet earth sank under the weight of his feet, but it didn’t suck his boots right off when he returned to the porch. They’d probablyhave to watch their step while they were out here, but besides that, Dean reckoned the mud wouldn’t be too big of an inconvenience.

The porch door groaned open, and when Dean looked over his shoulder, Castiel was there. The guardian blinked out at the gray morning for a moment before asking, “What are we doing out here, again?”

Dean gave Castiel a brief smile and then looked back out towards the yard. At the far end of it sat a long, low shed that was typically used to store farming equipment. It wasn’t visible from this distance, but Dean knew there was a slew of wards carved into that shed’s doors. “How well do you know your way around a blade, Cas?” he asked.

Castiel’s answer wasn’t immediate, and his silence allowed the sound of the plains to filter in: the steady drip of water off the grass, the hiss of the wind pushing the mist this way and that. Then, after clearing his throat, Castiel said, “During the Devastation, I used a sword.”

Dean hummed. “Nothing since then?”

“No.”

“Well then.” Flashing another smile over his shoulder, Dean stepped off the porch and towards the shed. “I guess you could consider this a refresher course.”

There was a beat of quiet, and then Dean heard the squelch of mud under Castiel’s boots as he moved to follow.

“But, Dean,” Castiel said, just as Dean was about to push open the shed’s doors. “There’s no need for me to use a weapon. I can handle myself well enough with my magic.”

“I ain’t saying you can’t,” Dean said, turning to look at Castiel as he spoke. “But how good of an idea would it be to flash your scaly self all over the place while we hunt?”

Castiel looked away, frowning as he thought. “Not much of one,” he said. His expression then darkened into a glare. “Not with Meg still on the loose, at least.”

Dean nodded. “Exactly. And you can consider this practice, if it helps.”

Castiel didn’t reply, so Dean took the chance to shoulder open the shed doors and step inside. The shed’s interior was dim and musty, the morning light pouring in through the open doors not doing much to alleviate the darkness beyond picking out several sharp, bright points along the walls. When the pair stepped further inside and let their eyes adjust, it was easier to see the rows upon rows of racks lining the walls, each full to bursting with a variety of weapons. It was a collection made by the efforts of generations of hunters, and contained everything from knives to halberds to crossbows.

“All right,” Dean said, after giving Castiel time to take it all in. “Choose your weapon.”

For a moment, Castiel remained where he stood, looking around with wide, bright eyes. Then he stepped away from Dean and further among the racks. He perused his choices with care, muttering to himself as he ran his fingers across hilts and staves. He was almost to the far wall of the shed when he paused to pull something off a rack.

“What about this?” he asked.

Dean stepped closer and took the weapon that Castiel proffered. It was a short sword in a plain scabbard. When Dean drew it, he found the sword itself was a simply yet beautifully crafted thing. The core of the blade was made of steel, and its edges were made of silver that had tarnished with age. Still, the blade looked sharp, and when Dean touched the ball of his thumb against it, it drew blood.

“It’s nice,” Dean said, sucking the blood from his wound absently. Castiel’s eyes followed the movement. “Short range, though.”

Castiel shrugged, and took the sword back when Dean held it out to him. “It’s similar to what I’ve used in the past,” he said, taking a few experimental swipes with the blade. It hissed quietly as it sliced through the air. “I think I’ll be all right.”

“Good,” Dean said, grinning as Castiel lowered the blade to his side. “Let’s get started, then.”

They didn’t spend much time practicing that morning. Dean mainly spent the time leading Castiel through a few basic drills in order to gauge the guardian’s skill level. It was obvious the guardian had some past experience, but it was also obvious that he was very rusty. Castiel took corrections with ease, though, with Dean only having to readjust a stance with gentle hands once before Castiel figured it out. Which was great, seeing as each touch left Dean restless in a way he couldn’t describe. He did his best to ignore the sensation. This was about training Castiel, and nothing more.

After an hour of drills, Dean showed Castiel how to care for the sword, how to sharpen it and keep the blade polished to a gleaming shine. Castiel tried to return the sword to the weapons shed after that, but Dean stopped him.

“It ain’t gonna take care of itself in there,” Dean said. “That’s your job.”

Castiel hesitated for a moment before nodding, his grip tightening just a fraction on the hilt of his new weapon. “Thank you,” he said.

Dean shook his head. “You gotta be able to defend yourself out there. That doesn’t need a thank you.” Clapping a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, he said, “Now c’mon, let’s see if anyone made breakfast. I’m starving.”

=

The next few days fell into a pattern. Dean and Castiel would get up early to practice, and then join the rest of the household for breakfast. Sam would then spend most of the day buried in books, scouring them for the faintest hint about the guardians. Sometimes he would ask Castiel questions about this region or that historical event, but he mostly researched on his own.

Bobby, in the meantime, picked through his recent correspondence. His house was an information hub of sorts, with people and hunters from almost every corner of the continent reaching out to Bobby for advice. If something seemed worth investigating, Bobby would send the boys after it. This time, however, it was taking him an unusually long time to find something.

“I don’t wanna waste your time on small stuff,” he said when Dean asked about the delay. “I figure the bigger, the better.”

So Dean let Bobby take his time, and spent the passing days checking over everyone’s equipment and fixing whatever needed it. Castiel was almost always nearby, either reading something from Bobby’s library or watching Dean work with sharp eyes. Soon Dean started talking as he worked, lecturing Castiel on the sigils and wards sewn into almost everything he and Sam owned. He then went on to talk about the more common monsters in the world, and how to best dispose of them. Every now and then, Dean would feel foolish, explaining these things to a being far older and more experienced than him. But Castiel never complained, and listened to Dean’s words with rapt attention. Perhaps, then, Dean was teaching this age-old creature something new. The very idea let loose a flutter of something akin to pride in Dean’s chest. So he kept talking, and Castiel kept listening.

On the evening of the fifth day, when all of them were seated around the table for supper, Bobby announced that he’d found something promising. “It ain’t a giant animal sighting,” he said, giving Castiel a sidelong glance, “but it’s outside the plains. Reckon that could help your investigation a bit.”

“What’d you find?” Dean asked around a mouthful of food. Sam made a disgusted noise and kicked him under the table.

Bobby, used to seeing this sort of exchange between the two brothers, ignored it. “So this happened up north.”

Dean grunted, swallowed, and asked, “How far north are we talkin’?”

“In the Lupine Forest. The mines, if you wanna get specific.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “There are mines in the forest?” he asked.

“They were opened shortly after the Devastation,” Sam said, nodding. “Which might be why you haven’t heard about them.”

“They’re also over a week’s worth of riding from here,” Dean said, giving Bobby a faint frown. “We don’t go that way unless it’s worth the time.”

“I’d be happy to tell you,” Bobby said gruffly, “if y’all would stop interruptin’ me.”

He paused long enough for a murmured round of apologies, and then nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Right,” Bobby said. “The letter said this happened about three weeks ago, so it’s relatively fresh. A surveyor and his assistant were checkin’ out one of the main shafts when the assistant outright vanished the night after their arrival. Her stuff was still at the camp, and no one had seen her leave.”

“That’s,” Sam said, searching for the word, “strange. But it doesn’t seem strange enough for us.”

Bobby waved off his words. “I was getting there,” he said. “When the surveyor started looking for the assistant, some workers told him that she wasn’t the first to vanish. Other miners have been for weeks, now.”

Sam sucked in a sharp, quiet breath, and Dean’s eyebrows raised of their own accord. One disappearance at a mine wasn’t unusual, but multiple, all close together, was definitely strange.

Castiel, looking just as startled as Sam and Dean, was the first to break the silence. “Did no one report so many missing workers?” he asked Bobby.

Bobby cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, his expression borderline uncomfortable. “They thing is,” he said, “they probably _were_ reported. But…”

“But none of them were important enough to be worth looking into,” Dean said, when Bobby had trailed off for too long.

Bobby nodded. Castiel made an incredulous sound at the gesture, eyes sparking with something close to anger. Before he could say anything, though, Dean reached out and gently touched Castiel’s wrist and then shook his head when their eyes met. He could understand the guardian’s indignation at the situation, but if interruptions kept springing up, they’d never hear the full details of the case. Castiel would have to put his issues aside until later. They all would.

Castiel glared for a breath longer, eyes still on Dean, who did his best to silently convey that this was a conversation for _later_. Sighing, Castiel broke eye contact with Dean and slumped further into his seat. “My apologies,” he muttered. “Please, Bobby, continue.”

Bobby grunted, eyes flicking from Castiel to Dean and back again with interest. “Right,” he said. “Anyway. The search didn’t turn up anything. But then, a week later, the assistant showed up in one of the smaller mines.”

“Alive?” Dean asked.

Bobby shook his head. “Dead. And missing an arm.”

Sam whistled through his teeth. “Several disappearances,” he said, looking over at Dean, “ _and_ a mutilated body?”

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, Dean leaned back into his chair until it creaked in protest. “I think it’s worth a look,” he said. Even if it ain’t a monster, the Lupine Forest’s far enough away that we might find something out about a wellspring.”

“It’s a definite possibility,” Castiel said. He still looked troubled, a faint frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, but his voice was steady. “And perhaps, when we get closer to one of my siblings, I’ll be able to sense something from them.”

“Sounds like a done deal, then.” Pushing himself out of his seat, Bobby began to gather the plates from the virtually forgotten meal. “You boys better pack and go to bed early. It’s gonna be a long trip.”

=

Castiel found Dean less than an hour later. His knock on Dean’s bedroom door was light, and he let himself in as soon as Dean gave permission. He didn’t come in very far, though, just closed the door behind himself and leaned against it.

Dean watched him for a moment, wanting to see if the guardian would say something first. When the silence stretched on, he turned back to his packing. “What can I do for you, Cas?” he asked.

There was another beat of silence. “I,” Castiel started, before cutting himself off with a soft, frustrated sound. “I can’t make sense of what you and Bobby said earlier.”

Dean grunted in acknowledgment, but didn’t look up. It was taking more of his attention to pack his saddlebags than it usually did.

“How can one disappearance be more important than another?” Castiel asked. “How can one _person_ be more important than another?”

Dean sighed. Tying his bags closed, he shoved them aside and turned so that he could sit on the edge of his bed and study Castiel. The guardian wasn’t visibly upset, but his eyes were dark and troubled. After a moment more of contemplation, Dean sighed again and looked away.

“It’s how it is up there,” he said. “People with money matter, People who don’t have money, don’t. S’why they work in the mines.”

Castiel’s confusion was audible in his voice. “So if a miner dies, or vanishes—“

“No one cares. They’re just another poor person.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

Dean looked up at Castiel and almost immediately looked away again. The guardian’s anger was a quiet thing, mainly visible in the hard glint in his eyes and the tight clench of his jaw. But, for all of its subtlety, Dean didn’t doubt its potency. A wrong word or action, and Castiel’s rage would be unleashed with all of the sudden strength of a summertime storm.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean said, “You honestly wanna know what I think?”

“The truth would be appreciated, yes.”

Dean lifted his head so he could look Castiel in the eye as he spoke. “I’ve never liked it,” he said. “It’s why I try not to take jobs up there unless I have to. It ain’t like that here. All we have in the plains are farms and livestock. Money ain’t that big of a deal here. And I don’t think it should be that big of a deal anywhere.

“But it _is_ a big deal up north,” Dean continued, when Castiel remained silent. “It’s also important to the east, around the capitol. And…”

“And what?” Castiel prompted. He looked a little calmer, but his anger still lingered in the tension of his body. It made what Dean was about to say feel even worse.

“And I deal with it,” Dean said, voice soft. “I don’t like it, but when I’m around it, I deal with it. ‘Cause it ain’t my home, and it ain’t my call.”

Castiel stared for a long moment, eyes unreadable as he studied Dean. It was difficult not to fidget under the intense scrutiny. “Even though you know it’s wrong, you say nothing?” Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged. “I’m there to hunt,” he said. “Can’t really do that if I call attention to myself.”

“I see,” Castiel said. His voice was terribly neutral.

Dean ducked his head and looked away. He’d never been proud of how he ignored others’ struggles just for the sake of maintaining anonymity. Explaining it to someone else only made him feel worse. He wondered what Castiel thought of Dean now, after hearing how the man who’d saved him actively turned his back on other people. How someone who’d dedicated his life to saving people, ignored such an obvious unfairness.

Instead of passing any sort of judgment, though, Castiel thanked Dean in a soft voice. “I think I understand a little better,” he said, and then left Dean’s room, closing the door behind him.

At the sound of the latch clicking back into place, Dean let out a harsh breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He couldn’t tell for the life of him if that conversation had actually gone well. He _did_ know, though, that he felt like a pretty bad human being after attempting to explain his shitty behavior to a creature far greater than him.

Well, there was nothing to do for it now. Castiel could make his own conclusions about Dean’s character. As for Dean, all he could do was pack and plan for the journey ahead of them.

=

They left Bobby’s shortly before dawn, taking the road eastward out of Lawrence. The plains were gray and still, the dew on the grass glittering faintly in the predawn light. The air was cool, almost cold, a sign of the encroaching winter. An hour or so after their departure, the sun peeked up from behind the eastern horizon, bruising the sky with reds and purples. By the time the sun was fully risen, it had banished the chill of the night. It promised to be a nice day for riding - a trend Dean hoped would hold true for their entire ride northward.

By midafternoon, the trio reached a crossroads. The road they were following continued eastward, plunging into the grass and out of sight. The other road intersected theirs at a right angle, pointing both north and south.

“We’re making good time,” Dean said, pointing at the new road. “We’re gonna follow this all the way to the Lupine region. Should be about a week, I reckon.”

So they turned north, putting the now-descending sun to their left. The road was made of evenly packed dirt that ran arrow straight before them, a line of dusty brown amongst the green sea of grass. For the first few days, the landscape didn’t change. When the travelers stopped for the night, they camped beside the road, in the open air. Those nights passed in relative peace, the stars keeping watch as they rested beneath them.

Halfway through the fourth day of their ride north, the land began to change. The grass became shorter and coarser, with an occasional bush or shrub popping up. Flowers began to dot the land in small, colorful clusters. The day after that, the brush almost completely took over the grass, and tall, slender trees began to appear. The road rose and fell along the slopes of gentle hills, and dipped through the cool shadows made by copses of trees instead of going around them. Birdsong and animal calls echoed all around them.

“This is very different from the desert,” Castiel said, after they had made camp on that fifth night. They’d stopped in a clearing situated in the middle of a small wood, and he looked up at the trees as he spoke. His mouth was a tight, uncomfortable line. “And the plains, as well.”

Dean grunted his agreement, not looking up from the campfire. The forest always made him uneasy. There were too many hiding places here, too many places to get lost or trapped. It always felt like, if he were to let his guard down for even a moment, something would catch him unawares and ultimately kill him.

“It won’t really clear again until we reach the first town,” Sam told Castiel, visibly calmer than his companions. He had lived in the capitol for a few years, and had become accustomed to its narrow streets and the constant press of tall buildings. The trees currently around them were probably more tolerable in comparison. “The forest is pretty much untouched, except for around the towns and mines.”

A wolf let out a low, wavering note somewhere deeper in the trees. Soon other voices joined in, winding around each other in song. It was a large pack, by Dean’s reckoning, with at least a half dozen members. The look Castiel gave in the direction of the sound was curious, but unconcerned.

“I think I’ll keep watch tonight,” Castiel said, once the wolves had finished howling. “Just in case.”

Neither Dean nor Sam was against that. They fell asleep with Castiel sitting up beside them, a guardian even in this strange land, staring out into the darkness that pressed against the light of their small campfire. When the brothers woke up the next day, Castiel reported that the night had passed quietly. Despite the reassurance, they didn’t linger, and broke camp as soon as they were able.

As the next few days passed, the trees became bigger and taller, until they were riding through a proper forest. The canopy soared high above them, and was thick enough to keep the road in shadow even in midday. The air was thick of the smell of green and growing things. Sounds felt muted, now, muffled by the numerous trunks and bushes pressing in on either side of the road. The tension everyone felt only increased as they traveled on, though nothing had yet to happen. By the third day within the forest proper, everyone was too tense to even attempt conversation.

When the road abruptly broadened and a marker appeared beside it, everyone let out a quiet sigh of relief. The marker announced that they were only a day’s ride from the nearest town.

“That should be Agate Town,” Sam said, studying the regional map he’d borrowed from Bobby. “From there, the road forks, with more towns to the east and the mines to the west.”

“Should we stop there for a night,” Dean asked, “or just pass through?”

Sam shrugged. “Depends on what kind of rush we’re in,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t mind a night in a real bed.”

“And behind a locked door,” Castiel put in. “I may not require sleep, but this forest is…”

He didn’t finish his thought, but Dean understood. And a night away from the closeness of the trees _would_ be a relief.

“I ain’t protestin’ against that,” Dean said. “But gotta get there first.”

And so they rode on, pace quickened by the promise of a town. The scenery around them was still the same when they made camp that night, but Dean thought he saw the flicker of lights to the north, barely visible among the trunks and leaves. If that was Agate Town, then it wasn’t too far ahead of them. By Dean’s reckoning, they’d get there by noon the next day.

And then they’d finally see what the Lupine Forest had in store for them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agate Town. Cursed fruit. Sparring.

They rode into Agate Town shortly before the sun reached its zenith the next day. The dirt road, which had gotten broader as the morning wore on, became paved with cobblestones. The forest gave way a hundred yards from Agate’s entrance, to be replaced by a meadow of shaggy grass and bright wildflowers. It was a breath of fresh air after the closeness of the trees. But the relief would be short-lived, Dean knew. The forest surrounded Agate Town on all sides, bringing to mind giant, silent sentinels.

The first group of houses was clustered just behind Agate’s main entryway. Well, perhaps “houses” wasn’t the right word to describe them. They were closer to shacks, built shoddily of wood and straw. The people wandering the area were thin and filthy, their clothes more patches than cloth. Their shoulders seemed bowed with an unseen burden, and they watched the passing travelers with dark, hollow eyes.

“What a cheery welcome,” Dean muttered. Sam shushed him sharply. Castiel remained silent, studying the people they passed. His face was solemn, but his eyes were bright with what Dean could only guess was anger.

A few minutes later, the shacks were replaced with neat, two-story houses that were made with dark, solid wood. The people living here wore plain clothing, but it was all in better condition than what the people were wearing on Agate’s outskirts. Some of the people gave the travelers a curious look, but they were largely ignored.

The road the trio were still following had yet to narrow, and so Dean continued down it, figuring it might lead them to the town’s center. From there, they could look for a suitable place to stay for the night. Sure enough, a large space opened up before them a couple of blocks later. When they all reached the edge of the square, they reined their horses to a sudden stop, amazed at what was before them.

At the center of the square, towering over all of the buildings surrounding it, was a great tree. While this tree was almost as tall as the other ones growing beyond Agate’s borders, it looked completely different. Its gnarled, rough trunk split into countless branches, and its broad canopy cast most of the town square in dappled shadow. Its oval-shaped leaves were a green so brilliant it was almost unreal, and hidden amongst them was the occasional flash of red fruit.

“By all that breathes,” Sam said, sounding as if the air had been punched out of him.

“I’ve never seen a tree like this one before,” Castiel said, his tone almost reverent. “It’s _amazing_.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. He could hear the awestruck note in his own voice, but could do nothing about it. The presence of this tree almost seemed to demand a degree of respect.

“I think,” Sam said, squinting up at the round, red fruit dotting the tree’s branches. “I think it might be an apple tree.”

Dean snorted and shook his head. “You’d know better than me, bookworm.”

Sam glared over at Dean before looking back at the tree. “The only thing is,” he said, “I’ve never seen an apple tree this big. I didn’t even know they _could_ reach this size.”

“Would that help you better identify it?” Castiel asked, pointing at something. It was a particularly low-lying branch, with at least half a dozen fruit weighing it down. From here, the fruit looked twice as big as Dean’s fist, maybe even bigger.

Sam hummed a curious sound and urged his horse towards Castiel’s find. A breeze picked up, rustling the tree’s leaves and making it sound like a countless number of whispering voices. A sweet smell reached Dean’s nose, so strong it was almost cloying. It would have been enticing, if not for the scent of something else hiding underneath it.

Something sour.

Sam was within arm’s reach of the fruit when Dean suddenly felt much less sure about this endeavor. “Sammy—“

“Don’t!”

Someone darted out from between the two buildings to block Sam’s path, arms stretched out to either side. Startled, Sam’s horse reared, hooves kicking dangerously close to the stranger’s head. For one perilous moment, it looked like the stranger was going to get trampled. Then, with a grunt of effort, Sam was able to yank his horse’s head around and its hooves came down onto solid ground.

Dean let out a slow, relieved breath. Sam’s horse was still nervous, its eyes rolling, but Sam would have it calmed back down in a short while. Shaking his head, Dean dismounted and stomped over to the stranger. 

“What in the Creator’s name were you _thinking_?” Dean demanded.

Now that Dean was closer, he saw that the stranger was one of the poor folk that lived on Agate’s outskirts. And while he was filthy and ragged, there was no trace of madness in his eyes. Only fear.

The man licked his lips, eyes darting from Dean to Sam and back to Dean again. “I had to stop him,” he said, voice rough.

“Stop him?” Dean echoed.

The man pointed at the nearby fruit. There was dirt practically embedded in his nailbeds. More importantly, his hand was trembling.

“The apples,” the man said. “He can’t eat them.”

“What—” 

“No one can.”

Dean blinked, nonplussed. After a moment, he shook his head. “I’m not following.”

A touch to Dean’s shoulder made him turn his head. Castiel had come over to listen, it seemed, and he was now looking at the poor man with a furrowed brow. “What’s wrong with this tree?” he asked.

That was, apparently, the right question to ask. The man cringed, his face contorting into a mask of terror. “The tree,” he said, “it’s cursed. You—”

“All right, I think that’s enough of that.”

A gauntleted hand wrapped around the man’s bicep. It wasn’t a gentle hold, if the man’s wince of pain was any indication. This newcomer was wearing leather and mail, and had a sword at his hip. If Dean had to guess, he was most likely some sort of city guard.

“You’ve entertained these strangers long enough,” the guard told the man. His tone was so condescending it made Dean grit his teeth. “Go on home.”

The look the man gave the trio was borderline pleading. “But—“

“I said, _go home_.” Using his grip on the man’s arm as leverage, the guard pushed the man a few stumbling steps away from the group. “Be glad I’m not asking why you’re this far into Agate proper, too.”

So the man shuffled back the way he came, not giving them a single glance as he went. Once he was out of sight, the guard turned to face the trio.

“Sorry about all that,” he said. “We try to keep him and his lot out of the town, but sometimes they get bold.”

“It’s quite all right,” Sam said before Dean could even think of a response. He’d dismounted his now-calm horse at some point during the exchange. “He wasn’t really bothering us.”

The guard gave Sam an incredulous look, but whatever reply he had was interrupted by Castiel asking, “What did he mean about the tree?”

“Hm?” The guard’s face went blank for a moment, but then it cleared and he barked out a laugh. “He tried to tell you that old superstition, did he?”

Now it was Castiel’s turn to look confused. “Excuse me?”

“Those moles think the tree is cursed,” the guard said, jerking his head in the direction of the tree’s trunk. “They also think that if you eat its apples, the curse will be passed on to you.”

Suddenly, Dean was grateful that Sam had been stopped from picking one of the fruit that were now bobbing in the breeze. “Is there any truth to it?” he asked.

“Please,” the guard said with a shake of his head. “It’s just the moles trying to stir up trouble. I wouldn’t put any thought into it. Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me…”

With a small salute, the guard walked off. Dean watched him go, then turned back to Sam and Castiel.

“You believe him?” he asked them.

After a pause, Sam shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “That man seemed genuinely distressed.”

“Belief will do that, though,” Dean said, glancing at Castiel. “We’ve seen just that, and recently, too.”

Castiel’s jaw visibly tightened, but he made no comment.

“Maybe we could ask other people?” Sam asked. “If the rumor is common knowledge, someone else may be more willing to talk about it than that guard.”

“Maybe.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “But we gotta keep in mind we’re here to check out something else.”

Sam nodded his understanding, but Castiel gave him a small, puzzled frown. “And?”

“Locals get suspicious of strangers askin’ too many questions.”

“We can keep an ear out, at least,” Sam put in. “Honestly, I’m curious, too.”

Castiel nodded, apparently satisfied by Sam’s idea. Dean clapped Castiel on the shoulder and then turned his head towards their horses and gave a short whistle. Baby tossed her head and trotted towards them, Castiel’s horse trailing right behind her.

“C’mon,” Dean said, climbing up into Baby’s saddle as soon as she was close enough. “Let’s find an inn before anything else exciting comes along.”

=

They found a small, cozy inn just north of the town square. It was warm inside, and smelled of wood and roasted food. It was also relatively quiet, and procuring a room only took a few minutes. Once they were upstairs with the door to their room shut behind them, Dean dropped onto the nearest bed with a loud sigh.

“Oh, how I’ve missed having a mattress,” Dean said.

Sam snorted and slapped Dean’s leg as he walked by, making his brother yelp. “And you say _I’m_ the one who’s going soft,” he said.

“Shut up.”

As the brothers’ light bickering continued, Castiel made himself busy with dragging the room’s single armchair into a corner. From there, he would have a clear view of the whole room. Now satisfied with the chair’s new location, Castiel settled into it with an easy sigh.

“So,” Castiel said, drawing both brothers’ attention. “What is our next step, now that we’ve reached the forest?”

“Ah,” Sam said, exchanging a look with Dean. “Well, we’ll probably keep heading towards the mines.”

“And we’ll ask questions as we go,” Dean added. “That way, we ain’t going into this blind. Hopefully.”

Castiel looked back and forth between the brothers, expression less than impressed. “That,” he said, “doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”

Sam grimaced and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “I know,” he said. “But that’s how we usually approach hunts. And, if it helps, we’re still in one piece.”

“Mostly.”

“ _Dean_.”

Dean put both of his hands up in a placating gesture, smiling a little under the weight of Sam’s glare. “All right, all right,” he said. “I’ll stop scarin’ him.”

“You aren’t scaring me,” Castiel said, even though he was frowning rather deeply at Dean. “However, I _am_ now concerned about your wellbeing.” 

Dean scoffed, and waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Sam’s right - there’s a reason why we’re still alive.”

“We’ll also do our best to figure out what’s in the mines before we actually go after it,” Sam said.

Castiel nodded slowly and leaned back into his seat. “Then,”he said, “should we go downstairs? Ask questions?”

Dean grinned and shoved himself off the bed. “Sounds good to me,” he said. “Hope this place has good food. I’m starvin’.”

The common area was a snug, but comfortable space, with a roaring hearth and various comfy places to sit. It was maybe half full, with people either eating or nursing mugs of ale as they chatted. No one looked up when Dean, Sam, and Castiel came downstairs. People minded their own business here, it seemed. That was fine with Dean.

They had only just seated themselves at one of the tables when the innkeeper appeared. She was a tall woman, thin with a narrow face. Her smile was warm and welcoming despite her features, and she angled it now at the three men.

“Good to see you boys down here,” she said. “I hope the room’s to your liking?”

“It is, thank you,” said Sam, who was the best at small talk out of the three of them. He chatted for a little longer with the innkeeper before they finally got around to ordering food. The innkeeper bustled off to get the order started soon after.

“So,” Castiel said, looking around the room. “How does this work? Do we simply start asking people questions?”

Dean snorted, amused by Castiel’s eagerness, and shook his head. “First,” he said, “you gotta read the room.”

Castiel’s brow scrunched in confusion, but he stayed quiet. Perhaps he was unsure of what to ask.

Thankfully, Sam came to his rescue. “Most times,” he said,” people aren’t very welcoming of strangers asking questions. It’s better to find someone who at least looks friendly, to start with.”

Dean grunted his agreement, his eyes scanning the room. “I ain’t seeing anyone who fits that description, if I’m bein’ honest.”

“Forest locals are especially notorious for not liking strangers,” Sam said. “People in the capitol complained about it all the time.”

“Probably because they tend to get the worst of it,” the innkeeper cut in. She was approaching the table with three plates piled high with food. As she set them on the table, she continued, “Boisterous coastal folk don’t mesh well with us. We’re too aloof, I suppose.” 

Dean made an appreciative noise at the sight of all of the food and dug in almost immediately. Sam gave him a disparaging look, and started eating at a more sedate pace. Castiel, for his part, was ignoring his meal in favor of giving the innkeeper a puzzled look.

“You’ve been very friendly to us, though,” Castiel told the innkeeper. 

“Well, thank you for saying so,” she said with a quiet chuckle. “I suppose it comes with this business. Can’t make money if you frown at all the guests.”

Castiel nodded in solemn understanding, and turned to pick at his food with feigned interest. The innkeeper turned to leave, but Sam leaned forward to grab her attention once more.

“Speaking of guests,” he said, “have you heard any interesting news recently?”

The innkeeper hummed in thought, arms crossed over her chest. “Can’t say that I have,” she said. “Just the usual stuff about trade, mining, ore prices…”

“Nothing unusual?”

“Not that I can think of.” The innkeeper raised her eyebrow at Sam. “Why? Is there something that I should be hearing about?”

Sam shrugged in a play at nonchalance. He caught Dean’s eye as he said, “I can’t say for sure, but…”

“A friend of ours came up here a few weeks back,” Dean said. “We haven’t heard from him since.”

“Where was he headed?” the innkeeper asked.

“The mines. He—”

The innkeeper cut Dean off with a short laugh and a shake of her head. “That’d be why I haven’t heard anything,” she said.

Castiel frowned up at her. “What do you mean?”

“It’s only moles over there. So a person disappearing around those parts isn’t exactly newsworthy.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to frown. Even though he had a feeling he already knew the answer, he asked, “Moles?”

“Oh, you know,” the innkeeper said with a dismissive shrug, “the poor folk who work the mines. Moles.”

Dean had guessed that, but hearing it said so easily still sent a cold shock of surprise and anger through him. Next to him, he heard Castiel draw in a sharp breath. Sam appeared the least affected out of the three of them, but a ticking muscle in his jaw gave him away. The sudden silence was heavy, and so tense that it felt difficult to breathe.

“Well,” the innkeeper said, either unable to sense the tension at the table or choosing to ignore it, “if that’s all your questions, I’ll leave you to your meal. Enjoy, gentlemen.”

As she turned to walk away, Dean pushed himself to his feet. He didn’t know what he planned to say, but he knew it would be, at the very least, rude. He’d barely gotten out of his seat when a hand gripped his shoulder, stilling his movements. It was Castiel who, while visibly angry at the situation, also appeared to be well on his way to regaining his composure. In other words, he looked to be in much better shape than Dean.

Still, the restraining hand on Dean’s shoulder was a little confusing. “Cas?” he asked.

Castiel shook his head at the same time Sam leaned in from across the table to whisper, “What do you think you’re _doing_ , Dean?”

“I—“ Dean sighed out a sharp breath through his nose and, reluctantly, sat back down. “I dunno, but I… I felt like I should say somethin’.”

“About what?”

Dean gave Sam an incredulous look. “Are you deaf, or do you just not care? She called the mining folk moles. _Animals_.”

“Yes,” Sam said, eyebrows raised. “I heard that.”

“Oh, so you just don’t care, then?”

Sam’s expression went from confused to angry in a heartbeat. Before he could do more than let out a strangled noise, Castiel’s calm voice cut in.

“Dean. Perhaps Sam is only keeping his emotions separate from the job at hand.”

Dean turned to Castiel, surprised. “But—” 

“You told me the other night about how false complacency is sometimes important, to get things done,” Castiel went on. He lightly squeezed Dean’s shoulder and asked, “Does that not apply here?”

There was nothing accusatory in Castiel’s tone or words, and yet Dean still felt the impulse to flinch. Dean’s own words were being spoken right back at him, and in that one moment, he absolutely hated it.

And yet, “You’re right.” Dean turned his gaze downwards, towards the tabletop, as he spoke. “‘M sorry.”

In front of him, he heard Sam fidget in his seat. “Dean—” 

He didn’t want to hear whatever explanation Sam was about to give him. Dean stood up again, shrugging off Castiel’s hand as he did so. “I ain’t hungry anymore,” he muttered. “Tell me if you find anything out.”

“Dean, wait.”

He did nothing of the sort. Dean shook his head and went upstairs, his boots heavy on each step. Once he was back in their room, Dean sat on his bed with a tired, drawn-out sigh. He squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed one hand through his hair.

“Suck it up, Winchester,” he muttered harshly to himself.

Usually, he was better than this. Like he’d told Castiel before their journey north, Dean was used to being able to turn a blind eye to the mistreatment of poor folk that was commonplace in the Lupine Forests. But it was as if talking about it aloud to someone else had made that task all the more difficult. Or, perhaps, he was simply looking at everything with a painful clarity he had previously been lacking. Whatever the case was, he didn’t know if he could fully ignore the issue anymore.

Sam always was better at managing his emotions about this sort of thing, which was good. And Castiel had, apparently, taken Dean’s words to heart, and was trying his best to at least appear impartial. Dean was the only weak link here. The only disappointment. He would just have to make sure his weakness didn’t interfere with their hunt.

With a soft grunt of effort, Dean kicked off his boots and climbed under the bedcovers. He may have reached a decision, but he was in no mood to talk to anyone. He’d fake sleep for now, and face the world again in the morning.

A few hours later, Dean had managed to drift off. Sam and Castiel’s return from the common room roused him, but not enough to make him consider getting up and talking. There were hushed voices, followed by the sound of Sam settling into the other bed. In the ensuing quiet, Dean once again began to doze.

Just before he was completely lost to the waking world again, Dean thought he felt fingers gently slide through his hair. The touch was comforting, almost intimate. He sighed, low and content, and slept.

=

When Dean woke again, the room was filled with the first tentative rays of dawn. As he sat up and stretched, he took note of Sam still asleep in the other bed and snoring gently. Castiel was sitting in the lone chair, reading a book he most likely borrowed from Bobby’s library. He stopped as soon as he noticed Dean was awake, marking his place with a scrap of paper and resting the book in his lap.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel said, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean grunted in acknowledgment, not quite ready to speak actual words quiet yet. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pulled his boots over to himself.

Castiel, for his part, wasn’t deterred by Dean’s silence. Instead, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

Now _that_ was a question Dean couldn’t answer even if he were fully awake. With a shake of his head, he started wrestling his boots onto his feet.

“Dean?”

“How’s about a practice session?” Dean asked, standing. When Castiel didn’t immediately answer, he added, “It’s been a few days. I don’t want you getting rusty.”

The expression Castiel was giving him when Dean looked over was vaguely puzzled. His eyes, slightly narrowed, moved over Dean’s face as he remained silent. Dean, for his part, met Castiel’s gaze steadily, and hoped his expression didn’t give too much away.

Finally, after another long moment of silence, Castiel sighed and looked away. “All right,” he said, and turned to place his book on the table beside him. “It would be a shame to lose the skill I’ve just started to regain.”

Once Castiel was ready, they two of them headed downstairs. The day before, Dean had noted an empty yard behind the inn’s stables, and it was there that he led Castiel. Once they both had their blades drawn and started their way through a few practice drills, Dean couldn’t help smiling. They hadn’t practiced much on the road north, and it was nice to do it again. It was a moment of silence before the chaos of the day started, and it helped Dean keep himself centered. Idly, Dean wondered if Castiel felt the same way about their morning sessions.

“So,” Dean said after they finished a particularly complex drill. “You’ve been picking everything up pretty quick. How d’you feel about sparring, Cas?”

Castiel blinked, lowering his blade to his side. “Sparring?”

“Yeah. You, me, our swords. No preset drills or patterns. Just a good ol’ fashioned fight.”

The more Dean spoke, the more alarmed Castiel looked. “I could hurt you,” he said, blue eyes wide. Gesturing with the hand that still held his sword, he added, “If I miss, or attack too aggressively…”

Dean snorted. “I could do the same to you. You ain’t worried about that?”

“You’re human. I’m not.”

“And I’ll heal, eventually.” Before Castiel could argue further, Dean waved a dismissive hand. “Look, we’ll go a little slower than usual. That should keep mistakes at a minimum. And if you manage to get me, I promise I won’t be upset.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “If?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Dean said, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. “ _If_.”

Like Dean had been hoping for, he saw Castiel’s eyes flash at Dean’s challenge. Still, the guardian’s motions were slow and controlled as he shifted himself into a defensive stance.

“Very well,” Castiel said. “But I’ll be sure to remind you, afterwards, that this was very much _your_ idea.”

Dean’s grin widened and he raised his own blade. “Awesome.”

They stood like that, poised and watching each other, for a handful of breaths. Then Castiel stepped forward, movements rapid and smooth, his blade lashing out in a low arc. Dean stopped the attack before it could bite into his side, the sound of metal on metal clear and sharp in the crisp morning air. After a beat, Dean pushed Castiel’s blade back and answered with an attack of his own. Castiel leaned out of the way of Dean’s blade and took a couple steps back. Dean gave Castiel a moment to recenter himself and then closed the distance between them again, blade up and already swinging.

They exchanged blows like that for a while longer, their movements restrained and even. Their pace increased a fraction once they got into the rhythm of the fight, but it was still slower than an actual battle. There was, Dean felt, almost no risk of either of them actually getting injured. Even so, he was definitely still getting a workout from the spar. He could feel sweat tracing its way down his spine and dripping off of his face. Castiel, for his part, wasn’t sweating, but his brow was furrowed, and his attention was trained on the movement of his and Dean’s blades. The guardian may not have been using his full strength against Dean, but he was still fully invested in the fight.

And Dean was going to use that to his advantage.

The next time Castiel blocked one of Dean’s attacks, Dean abruptly leaned more weight against the locked blades. Then, in the moment Castiel was briefly off balance, he took the guardian’s legs out from under him with a solid, sweeping kick. All Dean had time to register was Castiel’s eyes widening in surprise before the guardian went sprawling. Dean didn’t give him time to get back up, and knelt down to get a knee on Castiel’s chest. Castiel started to struggle, but went still when Dean laid the flat of his blade against his collarbone.

“Well,” Dean panted out, still trying to catch his breath. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

Castiel merely stared at him, seemingly at a loss for words. Then, after swallowing and clearing his throat, he said, “You _cheated_.”

Dean’s answering laugh was no more than an amused huff. “I saw an advantage and took it.”

“And what advantage was that?”

“You were concentrating too much on our swords,” Dean said, taking his own off of Castiel’s chest as he spoke.

“I thought that was the whole point of this— this spar.”

“It was the main point, yeah.” Dean shrugged under the weight of Castiel’s glare and said, “Monsters - and a lot of humans, honestly - don’t fight fair. You gotta be prepared for that.”

He stood up then and, after sheathing his sword, offered a hand to Castiel. After a moment’s hesitation, Castiel took it, and allowed Dean to help him to his feet.

“We can start practicing hand-to-hand stuff tomorrow,” Dean said. “And we can keep sparring, too, if you want. I promise I won’t pull shit like that again until I think you’re ready.”

Castiel didn’t say anything at first, and instead focused on cleaning off and sheathing his sword. When that task was done, he looked a little calmer, and nodded at Dean. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate the lesson.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Even if you _did_ cheat.”

Dean laughed and clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I never said I was a hero, y’know?” he said. “Now c’mon, let’s wake up my lazy lump of a brother and find some breakfast.”

=

Sam had gotten up at some point during Dean and Castiel’s practice session, and was now sitting in the common room, eating a bowl of porridge. When Dean tried to join him, Sam shooed him away.

“No breakfast until you wash up,” Sam said, gesturing at the sweat on Dean’s face. “You _stink_.”

Dean tried to protest, but Sam wouldn’t budge. And Castiel was too busy silently laughing to offer any support. So Dean had to wait an extra ten minutes to eat, stomping upstairs and cleaning himself up as quickly as he could. By the time he got back downstairs, his stomach was growling like a ravenous hound. Blessedly, someone had ordered food while he was upstairs, and his breakfast was already there and waiting for him.

It wasn’t until he had demolished half of his meal that Dean glanced up at Sam and asked, “Did you find any leads last night?”

Sam shared a look with Castiel before shaking his head. “We tried,” he said. “But no one really wanted to talk to us.”

“Or they didn’t know anything,” Castiel put in. “But Sam says that they could be lying, and simply don’t want to talk about it with outsiders.”

“That’s possible,” Dean said around a mouthful of food. He swallowed, wiped at his mouth with the back of one hand, and asked, “So now what? We go to the mines?”

Sam nodded, and pushed away the remnants of his own meal in order to make space for his map. He unrolled it across the tabletop, pinning down the corners with various cups and dishes. Once it was smoothed out, he tapped the southernmost square on it, which was neatly labeled as _Agate Town_.

“We’re here,” Sam said, and then traced a finger upwards along one of the roads. “The mines are northwest of us. Bobby’s information puts the attack pretty far up the road. It’ll be five, maybe six days of riding.”

Dean grunted. “Anybody live between here and there?”

“Yes. But most of the villages are too small to be noted on the map. The first one, though, Opal Falls, is big enough.” He tapped the appropriate spot on the map. “That one’s a couple days away.”

Dean nodded. With the various towns and villages between them and the reported attack site, they’d be able to find at least one person willing to talk to them. Maybe. He was about to say as much when he noticed the look Sam was giving him. It was hesitant, and also a little sympathetic. Dean didn’t know exactly what that look meant, but he definitely didn’t like seeing it on his brother’s face.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean growled out when he couldn’t take it any longer. “Spit it out.”

Sam sighed, and then tapped the map again. When Dean looked, he noticed that there was a wavy line sitting directly south of the town Sam was pointing at. “There’s a river between us and Opal Falls,” Sam said. “We’re going to have to cross it.”

Dean’s face suddenly felt cold as the blood drained from it, and it felt like his stomach had dropped to be somewhere around his boots. Before he could manage to actually say anything, though, Castiel was leaning forward, his eyes alight with excitement and surprise.

“River?” Castiel repeated, words coming fast and eager. “There’s a river in the forest?”

Sam blinked, taken aback by Castiel’s enthusiasm. “Ah,” he said, and cleared his throat before going on. “Yes. From what I’ve read, there’s actually a lot of other, smaller streams, and ponds and the like, deeper in the forest. This river is the biggest in the region, though, and it’s used to transport what comes out of the mines to the eastern ports.”

“I look forward to seeing it,” Castiel murmured, reaching out to lightly touch the river on Sam’s map. “I… I’ve missed it.”

Most of the tension that Dean felt about having to cross this river in the near future dissolved in the wake of Castiel’s soft words. It was hard to forget the giant, underground river that ran through Castiel’s desert, the one that had been the region’s life source. The guardian had been away from it for weeks now, and Dean could understand why he’d miss that. His own issues seemed small, compared to the excitement Castiel had towards seeing moving water again. Maybe Castiel’s joy would make it easier for Dean to cross the river when they got to it.

“All right,” Dean said, pushing his now empty plate away from himself and standing. “Everything sounds straightforward enough. Once we’re packed, we can ride out.”

It took them less than an hour to settle their bill, pack, and saddle up their horses. It wasn’t even noon yet, and Dean was hoping to make some good progress before dusk. Before they could ride out of the inn’s courtyard, though, the innkeeper approached them, a cloth bag in her hands.

“For the road,” she said, passing the bag up to Dean. “The cooks had a few extras from breakfast, and I thought you boys would like ‘em.”

Dean murmured his thanks, and opened the bag to take a peek inside. There were at last a half dozen pastries in the bag, all stuffed with different types of fruit. Just the kind of treat Dean loved. He smiled, but then noticed something that struck him as strange.

“No apples?” Dean asked, looking back up.

The innkeeper, to her credit, did her best to hide her reaction. Her smile faltered for a brief moment before it came back, looking a little forced.

“Oh,” the innkeeper said. “Are there none in there? They must’ve run out. Apples are very popular around here, you know.”

Dean studied her expression, and the stiff set of her shoulders, and decided to let it go. “It’s fine,” he said. “I was lookin’ forward to trying them, s’all.”

The innkeeper nodded, but didn’t say anything more on the subject. Instead, she wished them a safe journey, and hurried back inside. There was no reason to linger after that, and so Dean, Sam, and Castiel turned their backs to the inn and started riding towards the main road.

“Didja catch that?” Dean asked the others once they were out of sight of the inn.

Sam shook his head. Castiel, too, appeared nonplussed.

Dean shook his head and looked back at the road ahead. “She lied,” he said. “About the apples.”

Sam hummed out a soft, contemplative sound. “That’s an odd thing to lie about,” he said.

“Ain’t it?”

Quiet fell over their group as they rode into the main square. The apple tree was even bigger than Dean remembered, and its shade still covered almost everything in sight. Its sweet-sour scent seemed more pungent than it had the day before.

“Perhaps,” Castiel finally said, hesitantly breaking the silence. “Perhaps she believes what that man was telling us yesterday. About the curse.”

Dean shook his head. “Why would she suddenly listen to a poor man?” he asked. “That ain’t exactly a common practice up here.”

“Maybe someone convinced her,” Castiel said, the shrug he must have given audible in his voice.

“Or some _thing_ ,” Sam added.

Dean nodded, and looked back up at the tree they were slowly riding around. It appeared innocent enough, its fruit brightly colored and looking perfectly ripe. Everything about it should’ve made Dean want to pick an apple from a low-lying branch and sink his teeth into it.

And yet.

Sighing through his nose, Dean looked away from the tree and urged Baby to walk a little faster. “Reckon no apples for us until we’re outta here,” he said.

There were murmurs of agreement from Sam and Castiel, and then they were leaving the main square, following a road that more or less pointed northwest. Once they were out from under the tree’s vast shade, Dean felt some of the tension he’d been carrying leave his shoulders. Soon they would be out of Agate Town proper, with nothing but the mines - and the hunt - ahead of them. Once that was the case, he could put the strange mystery of Agate’s “cursed” tree out of his mind.

Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't think I'll be able to guarantee an update schedule, unfortunately. I'll try for once a month, but can't say it'll always happen. Thank you all for being patient!

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for semi-abandoning this work, but I've brought it back, and also rewritten it from the beginning. Hopefully there are still some people who wanna read, haha. Either way, thank you very much for reading, and thank you even more if you've stuck around for so long!


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